


Just One Look

by tomfoolery14



Series: Writer's Month 2020 [4]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Medusa Magnus, Pre-Relationship, Romantic Friendship, i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 09:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25967644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomfoolery14/pseuds/tomfoolery14
Summary: When is a curse not a curse? When it restores your soul.Inspired by the legend of Medusa
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: Writer's Month 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1868773
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56





	Just One Look

**Author's Note:**

> written for writer's month: day 18 - myths

“Μια άλλη νύχτα περνάμε μαζί,” Magnus sighed. _Another night we spend together_. “Το φεγγάρι είναι ο μοναδικός μας φίλος εδώ.” _The moon is our only friend here._ With mindful precision, he dragged his knife along the seam of the skin on a fresh peach. The tender flesh peeled back from the pit easily, and he languidly ran his tongue along the flat of the blade to savor every drop of sweet juice.

He couldn’t sleep this night, wracked with nightmares and the phantom pain of the venomous magic that coursed within his blood. Leaving the world of man behind was the only relief for a great deal of the suffering in Magnus’ heart, but that which remained had been festering for quite some time.

He had known from childhood that he was more than mortal, despite his mother’s best efforts to protect him from the knowledge that the blood of his father was that of a fallen angel. Asmodeus called it a glorious birthright to be sanctified by beauty and power that defied human nature. After his mother’s passing, Magnus was all but bled dry of what made him like mortal man as he served under the tutelage of his father.

That was how he came to understand that the blessings of birth were conditional—the more like his disgraced father he became, the greater his paternal giftings served him. But he was supremely unhappy as the heir Asmodeus craved, and for millennia, Magnus was used and tossed aside for the things he had believed would make him great. His lovers sought his beauty as a commodity for their lust and pleasure, and his allies were sought personal glory at the expense of any. His suffering grew nearly unbearable, and though his body was immortal, his spirit was not.

The angels and demons, bound to him by blood, were driven to seek a solution—his beauty would become his weapon, turning any man or woman deigning to look on him to stone, and his power would be his protection, the resource of all his wants and needs—but the price to be paid was exile. Magnus agreed with a heavy but unyielding heart, and banished himself to the desolate island of Abioses with his hellhound Hapaxes. 

The briny ocean breeze clung to his skin and cooled as he bathed in the alabaster glow of the moon’s light, and the stone figures that surrounded him cast shadows that reached for him like talons.

Looking to his left at the large dark figure laying in wait with bright silver eyes, he held out his hand. “Ήρθε η ώρα να επιστρέψετε, ο ήλιος θα ανατέλλει σύντομα.” _It’s time to go back, the sun will be rising soon._ At his words, Hapaxes got to her feet. “Τουλάχιστον σε έχω, αγαπητή μου.” _At least I have you, my darling._

There were many beings whose arrogance drove them to seek out Magnus Bane for his legend. Word of his transformation had drawn many to him, and the irony was the end they met in time; hotheads, narcissists, and would-be kings had all come with a threat on their lips that died there too. Their stone forms now filled the Garden, not for gruesome sport but rather to serve as a reminder that Magnus must never forget that the hearts of man are often cloaked in darkness.

He slept only a few hours before he awoke with a start, feeling a presence that did not belong. There was a young man on his shore, a mortal with half angel blood—pure rather than fallen. He seemed to be injured, wounds stark, dark red against light skin as he lay motionless in the sand. Magnus could feel the thrum of his heartbeat, though, steady and strong; he appeared much like the warriors who had come in pursuit of a victory at his expense.

“Have you come to kill me, little angel?” Magnus asked, projecting his voice beyond the grove of trees he was standing in.

The man startled upright at being addressed, getting to his feet unsteadily. He looked around in confusion, putting a hand up against the sun to try to get a clearer look at his surroundings. “I…I was shipwrecked,” he answered, stumbling a bit as he searched for the source of the voice. “I had just enough strength to swim to the nearest shore. Where am I?”

Magnus tilted his chin up slightly in defense, even though the man couldn’t see him. “The isle of Abioses. My domain.”

The man suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned to face the water. “I mean no disrespect to you, Magnus Bane.”

Curious, Magnus took a step away from the cover of the trees to get a better look. No one who had come looking for him had ever presented humility in his presence. “I assume that if you know who I am, you know what happens when you look upon me. That’s why you turned your back.”

“I do. And I did. I mean—yes.” He paused for a moment. “I am Alexander of Idris, and I was on a voyage to my homeland for my sister’s wedding celebration when a horrible storm destroyed my boat and killed my crew. I swam for nearly a day and a half before washing ashore here.”

Warily, Magnus exhaled softly. Alexander was not an imminent threat; he need not kill him in haste. “Most of the plants that grow here bear fruit that is poisonous to mortals. You’re welcome to gamble with your life to find those that aren’t if you wish,” he stated plainly. “I would advise you not to forget that this is my home and I see much more than you may imagine. Those who have tried to deceive me and take my life as their prize to be won have met an abrupt end.”

“I pose no threat to you, Magnus Bane,” Alexander was quick to reply.

To Magnus’ surprise, he appeared to be true to his word. The first few days, Alexander hardly left the little cove by the shore he had settled into, and took nothing from the land to eat. He never once sought out Magnus or ventured much beyond the shore even once he began to leave the cove to begin assembling a new boat for himself. Occasionally, Hapaxes would watch over him at Magnus’ behest in an attempt to quell the insatiable curiosity he harbored about him.

After a month had passed and Alexander was still keeping to his word, Magnus made a calculated move. Just after sunset, he went to the shore with an offering in hand. He wore a delicate cloth made of gold that covered his eyes and a long tunic under which the intricate scarring from his transformation could be hidden. Without vision of his own, Hapaxes stood close to his side so that he could see through her eyes with a simple spell.

Alexander was sitting by a fire he had made, sandals tossed aside so he could dig his toes into the sand. Magnus found it strangely endearing.

“I’ve brought you something, Alexander.”

Upon being addressed, he startled, but, with great self-preservation, kept his eyes down.

“You must be getting sick of eating fish without something a little sweet.” The woven basket of pomegranates, grapes, and figs was enveloped in Magnus’ magic and sent to Alec’s side.

Alexander didn’t touch the basket or even move in its direction. The set of his shoulders was apprehensive, and his head was cocked slightly in an inquisitive gesture. “How do I know they aren’t poison?”

“Little angel,” Magnus chuckled, “if it were my intention to kill you, I would not have gone to the trouble of shielding my eyes from you.”

At that, Alexander looked up at him. “Oh. I suppose that wouldn’t make sense.” Timidly, he reached into the basket and pulled a small cluster of grapes out. “Gods, I missed this. It’s been…months since I’ve had fresh fruit.” His eyes were alight with joy as he put them all in his mouth at once. Dark juice escaped his mouth and dribbled down his chin and along the bone of his wrist as he tried to wipe it away. “I am tremendously grateful for your gift.”

“You are welcome.” Alexander’s lips were parted slightly as if he were about to speak, but the few beats of silence between them said otherwise. “Is there something you want to say, Alexander?”

Even in the darkness, the soft blush that tinged his cheeks was obvious to Magnus. “I was just… Is the legend true?”

“I don’t know what legend you were told so I wouldn’t be able to answer your question; only the truth lies with me.”

Rather than looking disappointed, for just a moment before he could school his expression, excitement lifted the corners of Alexander’s lips. It was only a flicker, though, gone as soon as he realized it had started. “I understand that your business is entirely your own, and this is absolutely none of mine, but—”

Magnus’s eyebrows rose slightly. “You would like me to tell you…about my life’s story?” He expected that Alexander would backpedal immediately, and the thought oddly made a disconcerting sense of disappoint sit heavy in his stomach.

“If it wouldn’t be untoward, it would be a great honor.”

At a loss for words, Magnus stood still and silent. The thought that any being that came upon him would not only harbor no agenda to destroy him, but would seek his history with sincere interest was more than he could comprehend at first.

He had requested that he be cursed for an eternity after all the abuse he had suffered at the hands of humanity for so long slowly ate away at him until he felt like there was little left at all, and thus the idea that he could ever find himself drawn to the idea of company with a mortal was one he almost felt angry at himself for having. Craving the company of another was something he was familiar with the same way one would be with a half-remembered dream.

“What are you, that you seek veracity rather than the myths of your ancestors?”

“Nobody,” Alexander said, then seemed to think better of it. “I mean… I grew up with the stories of gods and monsters used as the means by which warriors were truly made. We were supposed to aspire to conquests as our greatness, but it never seemed so simple to me.”

His eyes were so sincere they were almost hard to look at, and Magnus pondered his words with a pleasant kind of ache in his chest. “I have never met a mortal with such an…open heart,” he admitted in a low voice. “And I haven’t spoken in conversation to any since my self-appointed exile.

“I asked the angels and demons to conspire together to bestow me with a curse because I could take no more of the torments of man. I do not believe that good has left the hearts of all, but the… _advantages_ I was born with were used against me by nearly all who came into my life for many centuries. My alternative was to inherit the destiny of my father, which left much to be desired. That is why I made the choice to forsake the gifts of my bloodline and accept the burden with grace.” He paused thoughtfully. “Perhaps in doing so I attracted irony, though; in this realm, I serve no purpose other than as a prized head on the mantle of a great man.”

Alexander reached for him slowly, fingers extended towards his cheek. “I’m so sorry that you’ve suffered so greatly.” He moved with caution, but there was a resigned calm in his hazel eyes that Magnus never would have imagined.

When the calloused tips of his thumb and forefinger pressed lightly into the soft hollow above his jaw, Magnus felt as if his blood had turned to lightning, and the heaviness of possibility made his heart feel more alive in his chest than it had in centuries.

_When is a curse not a curse? When it restores your soul._


End file.
